


Nunc Atque Semper

by bbcphile



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Dead Kennedy Universe, F/M, Grieving makes people jerks sometimes, Let's hold Horatio accountable for his bad behavior shall we?, M/M, Maria Deserves Better, prior major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcphile/pseuds/bbcphile
Summary: Summary:  During their three years of marriage, Maria Mason had learned to weather Horatio's extended absences, changeable moods, and occasionally sharp temper, and to steer clear of the storms as best she could.That is, until she found the men’s wedding bands and love poetry from an A.K. that Horatio had hidden in his desk.





	Nunc Atque Semper

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Shakesperia for the prompt: "Set in canon, after Horatio and Maria are married, she finds some evidence of his (romantic) past with Archie, and begins to understand why he's so physically and emotionally distant towards her. If this could be done without vilifying Maria, that'd be great (because she is a precious, sweet thing who did not deserve this pain.)"
> 
> Thanks to Guardyanangel and Kedge for the amazing beta work!
> 
> (Also, this is the only Dead Kennedy Universe fic I will ever write, because it just hurts too much.)
> 
> Warnings: Period-typical homophobia

Maria checked the clock on the bookshelf again. 6 o’clock. Two hours had passed since dear Horry had returned home, pushed past with hardly a word to either Horatio Jr or herself, her pregnant state notwithstanding, and stormed upstairs to his study, refusing supper and snapping that he needed a full hour of absolute silence and solitude to work.

One hour since little Horatio had sobbed himself to sleep in her arms.

Forty five minutes since she had lain him carefully on his bed and retreated to their bedroom to stifle her own tears.

Twenty since she had risen from their bed, washed and dried her face, and put on her best frock.

Yet still his door had remained shut.

She sighed and glanced around the room once more. The bedspread was still rumpled from her earlier moment of weakness. She frowned and leaned over to smooth away the wrinkles. It wouldn’t do to have Horatio come to a disordered bed.

Assuming he came to bed at all.

She stilled, her hand hovering over the bedspread.

The baby kicked emphatically.

She rubbed her belly absentmindedly. No, surely he would join her tonight. Even Nelson himself must have slept on something other than a chair on occasion.

She glanced at the bedroom door, worrying at her lower lip. Dear Horry worked far too hard. Could he be persuaded to invite Mr. Bush to join them for a drink this evening? Surely William, of all people, could bring a glimmer of a smile to his lips. He did have a rather uncanny knack for it.

But surely, as Horry’s wife, it should be she who--

She shook her head. Such foolish thoughts were hardly worthy of a captain’s wife. Her mission was to make him happy. And if that meant ceding to another who could, then that was what she must do.

She brushed away the final ridge in the bedding and stood up straight, her back twinging in complaint. She wiped her eyes one final time, then left their quarters, closing their door behind her, and approached Horatio’s study.

“--These interminable years.” Horatio’s hushed whisper carried through the door.

Maria paused, her fist raised against the wood. Was there someone in there with him? Had Mr. Bush arrived while she was indisposed and let himself in?

She waited for his voice, but no such sound met her ears.

Horatio was alone.

Perhaps he was merely reading the newest report from _The Gazette_ to himself? Or letters from the post? She leaned closer and pressed her ear against the door to make out his words.

“--you, Archie.” Horatio’s voice cracked and died away on the final syllable. Only quiet sniffles remained.

Maria pulled back in alarm. Horatio, crying? What could be ailing him? Was he unwell? No, that would hardly explain the name. A friend, a shipmate he’d lost recently, perhaps? But why had he not come to her? Was it not a wife’s role to share and lessen her husband’s burdens? Or did he think her such a disappointment as a partner that even the task of being a helpmeet was beyond her means?

She wiped her tears away with a hasty jerk of her hand. No, surely not. Poor, dear Horry must be suffering alone because he did not wish to trouble her in her confinement. What other explanation could there be?

She hesitated, eyeing the dark wood as though it were a lion prepared to spring. There was nothing for it. If he would not come to her, then she must come to him. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and rapped on the door.

The sniffles stopped with a worrisome suddenness.

“What is it?” Horatio snapped, the harshness in the tone almost hiding the congestion in his voice. “I requested to be left undisturbed a mere hour. Is even that too much to ask?”

Maria swallowed back the tears that sprang into her own eyes along with her desire to retreat. “It’s been twice as long as that, Horry dearest. I was merely concerned for your wellbeing. And little Horatio was asking for you. Are . . . are you feeling quite well?”

“Perfectly well,” he bristled, a faint sniffle giving the lie to his words. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Maria frowned. Why did he persist in such a falsehood? Perhaps he was merely uncertain as to how to broach the topic? If that were the case, then surely she could help. “Horry, dearest,” she tried again, “Who is Archie?”

A horrible stillness fell over the study.

The chair creaked, then heavy footsteps approached the door, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

Maria stepped back, her heart racing. What on Earth--

The door flew open with a whoosh. Horatio loomed over her, his eyes flashing and his jaw firmly set. “How do you know that name?”

Maria recoiled. “W-what? Horry, I don’t--”

“How do you know that name?” He took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

Maria stepped away again, her back pressing against the wall. "You spoke it! Just a moment ago.”

“You were _listening_? How long? What did you hear?” He gripped her arms, his eyes as hard as flint.

“Only the name and your tears! Now let go of me!” Maria yelled and wrenched herself free from his hands.

Horatio staggered back and stared, wide-eyed, at his hands as though they belonged to someone else. “Maria, I -- you -- oh, dear God, I never meant to --”

“What have I done to deserve such treatment?” she asked, her vision blurring with tears.

“Nothing, Maria, nothing. I apologise, I--”

“--I only wanted to help ease your sorrow. What would you have me do? Learn not to care about your unhappiness as you do with mine?”

Horatio jerked back as though he’d been struck. “Maria, no, I--”

“--I don’t understand,” she sobbed, burying her head in her hands, “Why did you marry me if you hate me so?”

“Maria, my -- my dear, I don’t -- it’s not -- I’m sorry, I --”

“--MAMA!!!” Little Horatio wailed from his crib downstairs.

They stilled.

Maria remembered herself first. She swallowed, wiped away her tears as best she could with her hand, and attempted to calm her hitching breath. “Mama is on her way, dearest,” she called out, her voice strained, and reached for the railing of the staircase.

“I’ll go to him, Maria,” Horatio said, his voice soft. “As I should have done long before. Why don’t you stay here and rest?”

Maria hesitated, then nodded. She sank down to sit at the top of the staircase, her head spinning.

“I’ll return as soon as he has fallen asleep. Can I bring you something? A glass of water, perhaps?”

Maria shook her head. A glass of water could hardly fix whatever had broken between them.

Horatio frowned, his brows drawing down, almost on the verge of tears himself. He ducked his head and stared down at his feet. “Maria, I apologise. I never should have--”

“MAMA,” little Horatio screamed again.

Maria turned to the wall. “You should go.” She pressed her lips together and forced back the sobs that tried to break through.

Horatio cleared his throat and pulled back. “Of course. You’re quite right.” There was a quiet whisper of fabric as he stood up, then his footsteps echoed down the stairs and died off into silence.

Maria rested her head against the wall. One moment of rest. Then she would muster the strength to stand.

The door to little Horatio’s room creaked open.

"DADDY!!”

Maria closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. At least one of them was pleased.

A quiet, metallic ping of something small hitting the floor echoed through the study and into the hallway.

She frowned and looked over her shoulder. Should she enter and pick it up, whatever it was? The study by unspoken rule was his space and his alone, but surely an exception should be made for preserving objects before they could be lost forever.

She hesitated, then slowly raised herself to a standing position, a faint grunt escaping her lips from the effort. She glanced down the stairway once more, then walked into the study.

She scanned the base of the bookcase, then the mahogany cabinet, to no avail. Perhaps searching under the desk would yield fruit.

She crossed the room and stood behind the imposing wooden desk. A flash of gold caught her eye by the far left-hand leg. She knelt down, ignoring the twinge in her back, and stretched for it, her fingers closing around something cold and metal.

It was a ring, golden, slim, and plain.

The perfect size for Horry’s slender digits.

She stared down at the precious metal in her hand. Had his views on wearing a ring altered? Perhaps it was a surprise for their anniversary. She smiled and traced her index finger along the top of the band. It would certainly look elegant on Horatio’s hand. It didn’t quite match her own, of course, but that was no matter. She dipped her finger into the ring and stroked along the inside.

Her fingerpad brushed along an uneven surface.

It was engraved.

She hurried out from under the desk as best she could and held it up to the pale evening light, squinting at the message in its small, elegant script.

              _Round is the ring that has no end._

She frowned at the cipher. Even for her ever-practical Horry, commissioning a factual message to be engraved inside a poesy ring seemed odd. Perhaps a note accompanied it? Or perhaps there was a second ring for her that would complete the message!

Her heart trembled in her chest as she turned back to the desk, bumping her side against a sharp corner in the process. She bit back a hiss of pain and rubbed her side until the sting had lessened and the white bursts filling her vision had cleared. What had caught her? She glanced down then drew back in surprise. The right-hand drawer of Horatio’s desk, habitually locked, was jutting out.

She hesitated, then wrenched the drawer open the rest of the way.

A collection of objects of varying sizes rested inside in a neat stack: a small, golden pocket watch, a well-worn and dog-eared pocket book of some sort, and a blue velvet satchel with another golden ring atop it.

Maria swallowed, her throat as tight with nerves as it had been on her wedding day, then picked up the satchel with trembling fingers.

She slipped the ring on her fourth finger.

It hung off of it as loosely as did a ribboned hoop on a stick in a game of graces.

She yanked it off and put it in her palm beside its mate.

It must have been designed for a man. Could it have belonged to a male relative? Horatio’s father? Or grandfather? Perhaps it was one day intended for little Horatio, with a message about family circles.

She hesitated, then held it up to the light to read its message:

              _So is my love to you, my friend._

She dropped both rings and satchel on the desk.

No. Surely there was another explanation for these rings, apart from . . . that. It did say friend, after all. She snatched up the man’s pocket watch and glanced at the back. It was blank. She frowned, then popped it open and read the engraving inside:

            _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. WS, 116_

WS? Were those the initials of the man who had exchanged rings with her husband? She dropped it on the desk next to the rings and picked up the slender book. She could hardly remember the last time Horatio had read something other than _The Gazette_.

She pulled open the cover and glanced at the title page. _Shakespeare’s Sonnets_. An elegant, unfamiliar hand had written “Nunc atque semper, A.K. to H.H. 1800.”

Love poetry. For her practical Horry. From a mere six years prior. She gasped then bit her lip. She had to stay silent if she wished to have answers.

Were there two lovers? A.K. and W.S.? No, W.S. must be for William Shakespeare, and 116, the number of a page or a poem, or some such signal. That just left A.K.. Who did they know with those initials? Someone on his ship, perhaps? Mr. Bush would know--

No, asking anything of the sort would endanger Horry.

She shuddered as a chill crept along her neck. No, she could never wish that on him. No matter what he and this . . . this A. K. had done.

A.K. . . . A . . . as in . . . Archie?

She sank down into the chair, her heart pounding in her ears.

How was this happening? What could Horry, her Horry, have possibly seen in this . . . in this Archie, to make him abandon his responsibilities as an officer and a man?

She braced herself, then flipped open the volume to sonnet 116 and read the words and marginal annotations there:

       Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
       Admit impediments. Love is not love  
       Which alters when it alteration finds,  
       Or bends with the remover to remove:  
       O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
       That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
       It is the star to every wandering bark,  
       Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
       Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
       Within his bending sickle's compass come:  
       Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
       But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
               If this be error and upon me proved,  
               I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

The same hand from the front page had underlined the word “marriage,” circled the word “bark” and “height be taken,” and, in the margin, written “To my own North: as promised, I bring you a poetic treatment of navigation. May our light always lead us to each other, even in darkness.”

Her breath hitched and she dropped the book as though it were a serpent, coiled to spring. She stared glassily at the mound of artifacts, unable to move, to think, to do anything but sit.

Shadows passed over the papers on the desk. The clatter of wheels and hooves from the street faded then vanished. The lamplighters did their rounds.

Still she sat, her mind a daze, her life a dream. Perhaps a nightmare.

Footsteps tiptoed to their bedroom.

“Maria?”

The word sounded like an echo from another life.

“Maria, where--” A sharp intake of breath, then more footsteps, running across the hall. “Maria?” The door to the study flew open with a crash. “What are you-- Oh.”

Maria closed her eyes, her stomach churning at the guilt in his voice. The baby kicked emphatically. She took a deep, shaking breath. “Close the door,” she said, her voice distant in her ears.

The heavy wooden door clicked shut.

Silence stretched.

She forced herself to look up. Horatio was frozen in place, transfixed by the rings on the desk, his lips parted slightly, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes shining with tears.

He looked as though he had aged a decade in the space of a moment.

Her chest ached and a distant part of her longed to go to him, wrap her arms around him. But she couldn’t -- she oughtn’t. Not without answers. She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. “Who was he? A fellow officer?”

Horatio blinked, recollecting himself, and tried to stand taller, his hands clasped behind his back. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, his voice strained.

Maria took a deep breath, her hands trembling in her lap. “And is it . . . concluded, between you? Forever?”

Horatio clenched his jaw so tightly a muscle started to twitch. He pressed his lips together and nodded curtly.

“You’re certain?”

Horatio closed his eyes again, his lips pressed together in a thin, white line. “I am,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

 _Thank God._ Maria exhaled slowly, her head spinning. “And was he . . . with you? While I waited for you here?

Horatio’s shoulders began to tremble. He clenched his hands around the back of the chair on his side of the desk and the trembling stopped. He cleared his throat. “Arch--” His breath hitched and he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. He took a deep breath. “He died,” he said, his voice cold and hollow. “Before I met you.”

A cold, painful knot formed in her stomach. “When?”

Horatio’s gaze dropped to his hands. “Four years ago today,” he murmured, a faint tremor in his voice.

Maria forced back the words “I’m sorry” that had risen unbidden to her lips. She refused to feel sympathy for this man who must have lured her Horry to such depraved depths. “How?”

Horatio’s jaw twitched from the pressure. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it. It’s a naval matter.”

Maria frowned. So it was more than a casualty of battle, then. What had happened? Suicide? Execution? But what crime would be so secret, so horrid, that the navy would--

She gasped, her hand flying up to her lips. “They discovered him?” Oh dear God, did they know about Horatio, too? Was it an open secret in the navy that her husband was a--

Horatio blanched. “No, no, that’s not--” He took a shuddering breath and shook his head. “No. No one knew.”

Maria exhaled slowly, dizzy with relief. “Then what happened?”

Horatio scowled down at the desk, his jaw clenching further. “He’s dead, Maria. You have your answers. Why the devil should it matter how?”

Maria jumped up from her chair, only distantly aware of the loud scrape of its legs against the wooden floor, her pulse throbbing in her ears. “ANSWERS? I’m your wife, Horatio, to whom you’ve pledged yourself, body and soul, and now I find you’d made a mockery of our vows through your prior exchange of rings with this -- this deviant who died under suspicious circumstances--”

“--You wish to know how he died?” Horatio snapped, his eyes flashing. “Saving me! He sacrificed his life, his name, a consecrated grave, even, to save me from the noose for a crime of which we were both innocent. That’s your _deviant_ , Maria! A far better man, friend, officer, and husband, than I could--” his voice broke and he turned and faced the door, his hand over his eyes, and his shoulders shaking violently with suppressed sobs.

Maria watched her husband unravel before her in mute horror, her mind spinning. He’d loved this man, this . . . Archie . . . with a passion normally restricted to the ships under his command. They’d exchanged rings. Horatio considered him his husband.

Her stomach squirmed as much as the child within her. Could it be possible? Could such love--beyond mere carnal pleasure--exist between two men? The law was clear as to the punishment for physical crimes, but as for love, the Bible itself contains only praise for David and Jonathan’s covenant.

Perhaps it was not so very horrid after all. Certainly it wouldn’t warrant the ruin and disgrace that would surely follow were this known to others beside herself.

Regardless of what had passed prior to their meeting, she and Horry were married now. And as his helpmeet, she must try to assuage her husband’s sorrow, however unorthodox the cause. She took a slow, deep breath, and prayed this was the correct decision. “I -- am sorry for your loss, Horatio.”

Horatio stilled. There was an interminable pause. “This is hardly the time to jest, Maria,” he said at last.

Maria swallowed and willed her voice to work. "I’m in earnest. It would be a poor wife indeed who would wish her husband miserable.”

Horatio spun around, his nose red and his face streaked with tears. “You -- you don’t plan to summon the authorities?”

She shook her head. “Surely losing him was punishment enough . . . if such punishment were needed.”

Horatio narrowed his eyes, studying her as though she were a particularly puzzling map. “If?”

Maria nodded. “If.”

Horatio’s eyes widened. “Maria, I--” His breath hitched and he ducked his head and pressed his lips together as he fought to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and tried again. “--I -- I fear I have been a poor husband to you. But I do -- care for you, Maria, and I would make amends, if it is in my power. How--” he cleared his throat, “--what would you wish me to do?”

Maria swallowed and inhaled shakily. “I know I am not . . . the sort of wife you had hoped for, and I am trying to change, but, could you perhaps try to -- to upbraid me a little less, or to be more gentle when you think me foolish?”

Horatio’s eyes widened as horror slowly crept across his face. “I -- Maria, I hadn't realised -- that is, I knew I occasionally could be short-tempered, but I never imagined I had--” he ducked his head, pressed his lips together, and closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he silently castigated himself. After a moment, he looked up and met her eyes, his own shining with a look more sincere than any she had seen from him since his proposal. “My actions have been ungentlemanly and inexcusable. It was cruel of me to make you bear the brunt of my own . . . concerns, and I will do everything in my power to be a kinder, better husband. Is there anything else I can alter to contribute to your happiness, my dear?”

Maria hesitated. “If it's not too much to ask perhaps you could occasionally share some stories of your time at sea?”

Horatio pressed his lips together. “I -- I hardly know what I could say. I fear any details I could provide would merely disappoint.”

“You needn't share details of your bold exploits unless you wish to. You could tell me of the sounds of the boat in the water, or the wind in the rigging, or amusing anecdotes about your crew. Or --” she took a deep breath, “or you could share stories about -- about him. How you met. How you obtained rings. Or, stranger still, how he convinced you to read a book of poetry.” Horatio’s stricken face lightened as a faint smile flickered across it. “I would better understand your life if you did not shut me out.”

Horatio hesitated. “It wouldn't pain you to hear of him?”

Maria shook her head. “Not as much as it pains you to stay silent.”

Horatio frowned. “Maria--”

“You are grieving. Let me share this with you.”

Horatio hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Very well. What would you like to know?”

"You could start from the beginning. What were his first words to you?”

Horatio’s eyes grew distant, and a faint, bitter hint of a smile twisted the corner of his lips. He sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Welcome to purgatory.”


End file.
